Catland - a humorous fantasy

Chapter Fifteen: The Courtier

They parted ways at the door of the inn, with much bowing and scraping and declaring of loyalty, and with Millicent glowering all the while. Jasper and the others promised to return at first light to receive their king's instructions, and Leopold nodded at them graciously as they backed, bowing and bobbing, out of sight.

It was late by now, and they expected to find the front door of the inn barred on the inside, but when Leopold tried the handle the door swung gamely open, and the lobby was unexpectedly ablaze with light. Standing in the center of the lobby, hands clasped behind him, tail twitching gently, was a tall, thin cat with beautiful long whiskers, which curved out elegantly from his prim, small face. At the sight of him, Leopold drew up short, his body jerking backward, as if he half-intended to turn and flee the way he had come.

"Glimmerind," Leopld breathed. It was like a curse or a prayer—reflexive, unthinking, full of awe and fear.

The thin cat smiled. "I see my reputation has preceded me," he said, in a curiously high and piping voice. "But then, so has yours, my dear lady. The guardsmen who escorted you here alerted me to your presence as soon as their shift of duty ended. They spoke of your beauty in the most glowing terms. Yet now it strikes me that they may have undersold it."

The tall cat glided forward, moving on paws that scarcely touched the floor. In three long strides he was in front of Leopold, bowing low, taking a pure white paw gently in his own. Leopold stared down at him, transfixed, horrified. Greg had never seen the prince-cat so desperately off-balance.

Glimmerind straightened, and his bright eyes caught Leopold's gaze and held it. They were blue eyes—a light, searing, glacial blue—and they seemed to drill into Leopold's head and extract his secrets, while the tall cat stood there smiling.

"You were sent from the Eastern Kingdoms, were you not?" he asked in his soft, insinuating voice. "A rare honor for us here in Catland. I wonder—which Eastern king saw fit to grace us with your presence? Was it Axelayne? Brynthadon? Perhaps my old friend King Commarth? We received no word from any of them. But then, you did say it was a secret mission—didn't you?"

He had woven his web of words deftly, without seeming effort, and Leopold wriggled in it like a wingless fly. Fortunately, Millicent was less than impressed by Glimmerind's hypnotic sleekness of manner. She took a step forward, and her voice was coarse and hard.

"Mind your manners, courtlord," she spat. "Secret is secret, and not for bandying about in the lobbies of inns. It's with your king the lady Collabraxidol has business, not with you, and moreover it's no fit time this is for such a discussion, being an hour more apt for sleeping or sinning. In our own time and of our own choosing we'll declare our business, and we'll kindly thank you to leave us be in the meanwhile."

A smile swept over Glimmerind's face as he turned his blazing blue eyes on Millicent—a smile that might have meant irritation, or genuine relish, or even both. "Millicent Lamley!" he exclaimed. "Why, this is the rarest honor of all. Envoys we see, from time to time, even from the most distant places. But a Lamley walking the streets of Catland! Such a thing has not been since my kitten-years." He bowed low, with a mocking flourish. "To what do we owe this astonishing pleasure?"

"You ask too many questions," growled Millicent. "And it's no great gift you have for taking a hint."

Glimmerind showed his teeth then, and although they were small, they were as sharp as needles. He was smiling, but there was no joy in that smile—only a hundred tiny daggers, thirsting for blood.

Now the tall cat whirled and fixed his eyes on Greg, and Greg felt a stab of ice at his heart.

"And you, My Lord of Silence?" Glimmerind inquired archly. "What name do you bear into the fine streets of our great city?"

"Thumbledramp," muttered Greg. And he wished he were dead.

Glimmerind's smile spread from ear to ear now, as if he had eaten a canary, or perhaps a dozen of them. "Such an auspicious company," he purred. "A beauteous lady from an unspecified Eastern kingdom, a truculent Lamley, and a mysterious lord with a name like a song. I am certain that many fine adventures await you in the streets and alleys of Catland. And when, at length, your path takes you to the palace, we shall be honored to receive you."

With that, the tall cat gave a grand, sweeping bow and glided out of the inn into the darkness. The door closed softly behind him, and the three of them were left alone.

A long silence followed. Millicent looked at Leopold. Leopold looked at the floor. Greg looked back and forth between them, as if he were watching a tennis match in which the ball had mysteriously vanished.

At last, Millicent spoke. "You're welcome," she said to Leopold. And then she turned and darted up the stairs.

Greg and Leopold trudged up to their own rooms and parted ways without saying good night. The encounter with Glimmerind had drained the energy from all of them. Although the tall cat had gone, his presence seemed to linger, hanging over them like the scent of herring, which hung over them as well.

On his back in his narrow bed, his cloak of illusion still draped about him, with refracted moonlight from the Great Crystal splashing in through the window and across the sheets, Greg stared at the raftered ceiling and wondered what was going on back home. His mail would be piling up, he realized. A dozen brightly-colored catalogs advertising things in which he had never expressed the slightest interest would, by now, be crammed into his mailbox, with perhaps an invoice or two to liven things up. Leanne wouldn't have missed him yet; she was still on her honeymoon. Greg hoped she was having a nice time.

Around him, Catland was as quiet as a pet cemetery—so when the sound of sobbing came, Greg heard it quite clearly, even though it was muffled by a wall and a pillow. It was just a few faint sobs, quickly stifled, but the desolation of it shot right through Greg's heart, and before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet, padding towards the door.